The Places Life Takes Us
by xJadeRainx
Summary: We all know the story of how the mermaid Ariel met and married her prince. We also know the story of their daughter Hali, who unconventionally fell in love with a young stable boy named Xavier. But where did he come from? A story on how his parents met!
1. In the Wake of Tragedy

A young man of eighteen years, stood before the charred remains that was once his home. He remained with his mouth agape, just staring. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe. All Marshall could do, was stare. Passerby's would clap him on the shoulder and offer their condolences, as they returned to their own lives, that went completely undisturbed. That was not the case for Marshall Stoddard, however. The poor boy was still in a state of shock. They were gone forever. The twins Adel and Phil, his father David, his mother Cheryl... they were all gone, and nobody seemed to care. Nobody, but Marshall, that was. Was there anything worth salvaging from the house, burnt beyond recognition? Money? Marshall couldn't take that. It would leave him feeling like a total creep. Clothing? Anything that he wasn't currently wearing, had surely been consumed by the fire, that had so fatally ripped through his family's home. The scorched, wooden framework had been exposed, shudders were hanging by their hinges, roofing tiles littered the ground... his home was in shambles. Quite literally, nothing remained of the life young Marshall had lead only that morning.

A hot tear slid down his face, though he had no recollection of when his eyes began to water. He couldn't move, he suddenly realized. All he could do was stand, and stare at what used to be his home. Home. The word no longer held any meaning, for there was nothing that tied Marshall to this place any longer. His family...his mother, who always had a kind word to say...his father, who clapped him on the back as a way of saying he was proud of his son...and the twins, with their go with the flow attitudes...they were...they were...gone. The words stung like poison in the young man's mouth. Gone, forever. All that remained was charred pieces of wood, and a few items that were melted beyond recognition. With nothing but a broken heart, and a sack that held...his...what would have been his family's dinner...the eighteen year old sat on the still standing stone porch step. Propping his arms up against his thighs, the young man did the only thing he knew how to do at the moment. He buried his face in his hands, and cried.

Marshall dried his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing dirt and grime from a hard, honest day's work, onto his tear stained face. What was he to do now? Where was Marshall to go? The young man could think of only one thing, one safe haven. He would go to the home of his employer. Marshall wasn't exactly on close personal terms with Mr. Harding, but he did know that is boss was a good man. Mr. Harding would understand... give him a place to stay. What other choice did the boy have? Marshall would have to go see his employer at his home, unless he wished to sleep on the streets tonight. Marshall stood, and released his death grip on the sack, he was holding in his dominate hand, and the dead goose, his mother would have been cooking at that very moment, fell to the stone steps with a thud. His mind was still clouded in a thick haze. None of this seemed real... but the young man knew that it was. Marshall could smell the catastrophe in the air, the burnt wood, the burnt flesh... burnt everything. Shaking his head, he slowly snapped out of his depressing reverie, and began his trek to Mr. Harding's home.

The sun was just beginning to set, when Marshall finally reached the doorstep of the Harding residence. He exhaled deeply, before rapping against the pinewood door. Marshall's hands were still shaking from his ordeal. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, before he finally heard a set of soft footsteps approaching. It must be Mrs. Harding, Marshall resolved, because she was the only member of the residence who was so light on her feet. His assumptions were confirmed when a tall, slender woman answered the door.

"Oh, hello, Marshall," Mrs. Harding sounded surprised, "I thought my husband sent you and your father home for the night."

"H-he did... b-but..." the poor boy stuttered.

"You look like a wreck, Marshall," Mrs. Harding interrupted, "what happened... Oh, dear! Did you find out already? Mr. Harding was supposed to inform you and your father tomorrow."

"W-what?" Marshall's heart skipped a few beats. What was Mrs. Harding talking about?

"My husband found new employees who would be willing to work for half of what he was paying you and your father. Tomorrow will be your last day."

"W-what?" squealed Marshall, "but..."

"I'm sorry, Marshall," Mrs. Harding began, "but I have no say over the matter. You can talk to Mr. Harding if you like. He's still at the stables."

Marshall felt betrayed. Betrayed by God, for destroying his family, betrayed by his employer... he and his father had been loyal employees at the stables for years... since Marshall was thirteen, and his father long before that... How could any of this be happening?

"Yes, Ma'am," he managed to murmur, before stumbling off.

He wasn't going to the stables. Actually, the young man did not know where he was heading exactly, at the moment, but he _did_ know, that it wouldn't be the stables. Marshall craved escape. He needed to find away out of this place, somewhere far away from the awful memories, but he didn't know how. Marshall had never stepped foot out of Shireland in all his eighteen years. Why, the boy had never even visited Westland or Tersia, and they were the nearest countries boarding his homeland. Marshall continued to walk, completely oblivious to where his own feet were leading him. He stopped only when he noticed a soft ruffling sound at his feet. Marshall looked down at his worn boots, hand me downs from his father, to find a newspaper fluttering past him. Oh yes, today was Thursday. New issues of the _Shireland Gazette_ were strewn about, discarded by the individuals who had read them, and carelessly left the papers behind. Instinctively, Marshall bent down and picked up the newspaper. This is what it read:

_Prince Eric is celebrating his eighteenth birthday this weekend..._

Marshall quickly flipped to the next page of the newspaper. The young man was in no mood to read about the happy life, of a spoiled rich boy. Marshall had only recently turned eighteen as well, and look at where he was now. He had nothing. The prince had everything. That was the difference. His eyes halfheartedly scanned the words typed across the page, when something caught his interest:

_Freighter ship leaves for France at six-thirty, Thursday night._

Six-thirty. Marshall quickly glanced up at the sky. It was still moderately light outside. He had just enough time to make it all the way to the docks. The eighteen year old dropped today's issue of the Shireland Gazette, and ran faster than he ever had in his lifetime. When he finally reached the docks, Marshall was out of breath, and panting. There was a terrible stitch in his side, but it all seemed worth it, when his eyes beheld that freighter ship. Marshall needed to find the freighter's captain. He was determined to board that ship, if it killed him. Marshall didn't have much time, so he desperately roamed about the docks, looking for anyone who might resemble a freighter captain. What did they even look like, anyway? Marshall wasn't sure, but during his search, he did over hear some ridiculous conversation between an older man, an a boy seemingly his age.

"Are you certain you want to go sailing on your birthday, Eric?" the knobby, old man asked, "you know I get seasick."

"Yes, Grim, and _you_ know how much I love the sea."

Eric? Birthday? Now, that was ironic, but Marshall didn't have time to eavesdrop. By some happy circumstance, Marshall spotted a man barking orders at a few sailors. This man had to be the captain.

Marshall hurried over to him and asked, "Excuse me, Sir, but are you the captain of this vessel?"

"Yeah," the captain raised his eyebrows, as if being called 'Sir' was the strangest thing he had ever heard, "and?"

"I'd like to get on your ship."

"No," the captain said simply, and commenced to barking orders at his crewmen.

"Please," Marshall begged.

"How much money do you have, kid?" the captain reconsidered for a moment.

"Nothing," the boy admitted, "but I can work. I'm not lazy. I'll earn my keep."

"Forget it, kid," the captain shrugged.

"But..."

"Are you deaf or stupid? I told you to buzz off."

Marshall was about to prepare himself to reply to the captain's rude remarks, when the young, black haired boy he had seen earlier, intervened.

"Is there a problem here, captain?" the boy asked.

"No," the captain answered.

"I couldn't help but overhear you deny this young man passage aboard your ship. Why?"

"No money," the captain snarled.

The black haired boy rolled his eyes, produced a heavy looking money pouch and handed it to the captain, "That should cover his journey _and_ his food, am I right, captain?"

"It should," the captain nodded.

"Good," the black hair boy turned to Marshall, "Eric Benson, and you?"

Eric Benson? No, Marshall thought to himself, this can't be_ the_ Eric Benson, prince of Shireland. He couldn't be.

"M-Marshall Stoddard," he answered anyway.

"Well Marshall, bonne voyage," Eric saluted to him.

Marshall didn't know what bonne voyage meant, but before he even had an opportunity to ask, both Eric and his older companion had already disappeared into the crowd. Perhaps there were good people left in this world after all.

"Come on," the captain grumbled, pushing Marshall up the ramp leading to his ship.

Before long, the ship set sail, and Marshall stood above deck watching Shireland, the place he used to call home, grow smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared over the horizon.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Well, I kind of fell in love with Marshall and Ami from my two shot, In the Village of Le Mans. So much so, that I felt compelled to write an entire story revolving around how the two met. This is what resulted. Did you enjoy chapter one? It's depressing, isn't it? Chapter two is already written. I'll post it as soon as I feel I have received an adequate number of reviews for THIS chapter. See how that works? :)

Anyway, paragraph two was written by the uber wonderful, Converse r life, I only edited it a little. Good Job, Converse r life, and thanks for being my kinda Beta for the first two chapters!

I'm going down to South Park, gonna have myself a time,

xJadeRainx

PS: I learned the hard way, that fanfiction doesn't give a sufficient enough character limit to create a kick ass story description, so you must deal with what you've got!


	2. A True Blue Spectacle

Paulette Dubois angrily ushered her two children into their home. Maurice was a good boy. He could be a bit eccentric at times, but still he was a good boy. Her sixteen year old daughter Ami, however, was a completely different story. If that girl did not send Madame Dubois to an early grave, then she didn't know what would.

"What in God's creation possessed you to say such things to the baker's son!" Madame Dubois shrieked at her teenage daughter, as they entered the house. Was a quiet, uneventful trip to the market too much to ask? She didn't think so!

"Mama!" the girl defended herself, "He was trying to overcharge us. A half franc for a loaf of bread! Outlandish!"

"But Pierre Boulanger is an eligible bachelor. Why, he was a perfect match for you! Pierre won't so much as want to even _look _at you after those horrible remarks of yours!"

"Good," Ami huffed, "maybe I don't even _want_ a husband."

Madame Dubois pressed a hand to her heart, and collapsed onto a kitchen chair, "Don't want a husband! How can a daughter of mine say such things! The only way a brazen girl like you will ever land a man, is if the Lord himself drops one at our front doorstep!"

Ami immediately fell to her knees, right there on the kitchen floor, clasped her hands together in prayer, and looked upwards towards the ceiling.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, please, I beg you to send me a man. Make him six feet tall, strong, and handsome too! Give him two lips of roses and clover..."

"Stop that at once, Ami!" her mother shouted indignantly.

"And tell him that his lonesome nights are over..." the girl continued her prayer.

"Get up, get up, you wicked girl!"

Finally, Ami stood, smoothing out her apron, "But Mama, I was asking God for a man. You should be happy."

"Your papa and I raised you better than to take the Lord's name in vain," Madame Dubois gasped, still highly angry, "and Maurice, stop fiddling with that contraption, and get to your chores!"

"Oui, Mama," Maurice answered dutifully.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door, that caught all three family members unawares.

"A visitor?" Madame Dubois puzzled, "At this time in the afternoon?"

"Oh, Mama!" Ami giggled, and spun around in happy circles, "Perhaps God has answered my request for a man so quickly!"

Madame Dubois sighed, and said, "just answer the door, Ami."

The girl cut her award winning performance short, and causally strolled to the door. It was most likely just one of the busybody neighbors like Madame Dupont, or Madame Cloutier. They typically would come by with an alibi to borrow a cup of sugar, but Ami knew all they really wanted was to gossip with her mother. Ami placed her hand upon the knob, and opened the front door. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this. Standing right in front of her was a man, easily the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. The girl felt as if she would melt, simply by looking at him. Only, Ami was sure she had never seen him around town before today.

"Oh, mon Dieu," breathed Ami, delivering a quick glance towards the heavens.

"Uh," the man began unsure, "bond voy-age."

Did he mean to say, bonne voyage? If that was so, then why would this handsome stranger be wishing her to have a good journey? She wasn't going anywhere. Ami raised her eyebrows with interest. This man had used the worst French accent she had ever heard. He was quite obviously a foreigner. A foreigner! Why, Ami had never met anyone who wasn't born in France before. What was he doing here? And at her home too!

"Bonjour," Ami greeted in a corrective tone.

"Um," the man rubbed the back of his neck, "do you speak any English?"

Ami smirked, "Anglais? Oui, monsieur."

"I..I'm not sure if that means 'yes' or 'no'."

Ami smiled at him again, "It means 'yes'."

"Oh, okay... good," the man sounded relieved, "Is this the Dubois residence?"

The stranger reminded Ami of a frighted, timid deer. His eyes were large, and round like a doe's eyes, but they were the most attractive shade of sea green. Why, even his hair seemed to mimic the color of sand. This man reminded Ami of the seashore. She hadn't seen the beach since her family lived near the coast, in Caen. Whoever this man was, he stirred up some of her long forgotten memories, like the time when Ami had met and befriended a mermaid.

"Oui," nodded Ami.

"We?" he repeated, "Oh, Oui!...yes, yes... good. Is Monsieur Dubois home?"

"Non," Ami shook her head for emphasis.

"Ami," her mother cried form inside the house, "who is it?"

"It's a man," her daughter informed.

Ami laughed to herself when she heard her brother Maurice shout from somewhere in the house, "It's a miracle!"

"A man?" Madame Dubois suddenly appeared at the door, beside her daughter, "How may we help you, Monsieur?"

"Ah, yes, Madame, my name is Marshall Stoddard... I am here about the room. I heard in town that Monsieur Dubois has a room up for rent."

"Oui, this is true, but my husband isn't here at the moment, and I'm sorry Monsieur, but I cannot simply allow a strange man into the house while my husband is away. He should be home from work later this evening."

"Yes, of course. I understand. Thank you, Madame," Monsieur Stoddard bowed, "I'll return later on."

Monsieur Stoddard turned to leave, but Ami called out to him, "Wait a moment, Monsieur!"

Monsieur Stoddard froze, looking rather confused and uncomfortable.

"Mama," the girl addressed her mother sweetly, "it's summer. Just look how hot it is outside! Can't we at least let him in for a quick glass of water?"

Madame Dubois was not a hard woman. In actuality, she was very kind and gentle, but Ami knew exactly how to get her mother worked up, and frankly she was still quite upset with the girl. Still, it _was_ summer, and a man could easily die of thirst in that kind of weather. Oh, well. What was the harm in one glass of water?

"All right, Monsieur," Madame Dubois began gently, "please step inside for a moment. You can cool off here, before going back into the hot sun."

"Thank you, Madame," the man smiled, as he was lead to the kitchen.

Ami sighed inwardly, at the sight of Monsieur Stoddard's charming smile. Were all foreigners as handsome as he was?

"Please sit," Ami said, pushing Monsieur Stoddard into a kitchen chair, "let me get you that glass of water."

Ami placed a cup underneath the faucet and began to pump, unfortunately no water came forth.

"But the well _can't _be dry!" Madame Dubois gasped, "the pump was working perfectly just this morning!"

"Oh, the well isn't dry," Monsieur Stoddard began thoughtfully, standing and walking over to the pump, "the spring mechanism is missing, that's all."

"It is?" Ami asked.

"Oh, yes," he nodded, "I could clearly see that even from the kitchen table, but who would want to remove the spring from the pump?"

"Maurice!" screeched Madame Dubois.

Instantly, a young boy of fourteen came bounding down the stairs, "Oui, Mama?"

"Did you take apart my pump?"

"Oui, Mama," shrugged Maurice.

"Why would you do such a thing?" his mother sighed in exasperation. Madame Dubois was having one heck of a day.

"For my newest invention!" at least the boy had a good cause to do so.

"But now we have no water, foolish boy!" Ami shouted at her brother, "Papa is going to be so angry when he returns!"

"I can fix it," Monsieur Stoddard offered.

"Oh, non, monsieur," Madame Dubois began, "you do not have to bother."

"Oh, it's no bother," Monsieur Stoddard maintained, "I just need that spring."

"Well, if you insist..." Madame Dubois was hesitant to take advantage of their guest, "Maurice! Get Monsieur Stoddard the spring, now!"

It took all of two minutes for Maurice to retrieve the spring from his 'workshop', and hand it over to Monsieur Stoddard. Their guest immediately set to work on the pump, and Ami watched him intently. She could tell that he was really quite good at working with his hands. Her family's water pump groaned, as Monsieur twisted and turned the spring. in his attempt to pop it back into its rightful place. Ami studied his face carefully. Although his features took on the appearance of a man deep in concentration, Monsieur Stoddard didn't look a day over eighteen years. It wasn't all that much of an age difference, Ami realized with a smile. If she worked hard enough, Ami might just be able to convince her papa of the fact, too.

"Haha! Got it," Monsieur Stoddard proclaimed, as he began to pump the handle up and down. Water began to trickle out of the faucet, just as it always had.

At this, Ami let out a dreamy sigh, but quickly stifled herself, when she noticed her mother was staring at her suspiciously. Perhaps her papa wasn't the only one of Ami's parents who would require a little convincing.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Oops! It seems that last chapter I wrote that the uber wonderful Converse r life wrote CHAPTER two... not so. What I meant to say was that PARAGRAPH two (of chapter one) was written by the uber wonderful Converse r life. Still, I did edit it a little... So, keep that tidbit in mind, okay? Okay!

There, Converse r life, you should be kissing the keyboard I type on. How may compliments was that in the span of two chapters?

Have you ever seen two turtle doves bill and coo, when they love?

xJadeRainx


	3. The Interview

Marshall sat with Monsieur Dubois, in the man's modest parlor, room, if one could even call it a parlor room. Not that Marshall was judging or criticizing the family, though. He hadn't exactly grown up among the rich and privileged, himself. In all honesty, the entire situation was rather uncomfortable, and nerve racking for the young man. Monsieur Dubois was a a big man, bigger than him even, and Marshall was a good six feet tall. Marshall took a deep breath, to try and relax himself. All he wanted to ask for was a place to stay, for God's sake. It wasn't like he was going to ask this man if he could court his daughter! Why was Marshall so nervous, anyway?

The man of the house held out his hand to Marshall, apparently in an effort to put him at ease, "Je m'appelle Henri Dubois."

Marshall accepted the outstretched hand, and shook, "I'm Marshall, Marshall Stoddard."

"Well, Monsieur Stoddard," Monsieur Dubois began kindly, "my wife, Paulette tells me that you are looking to rent the open room upstairs."

"Yes, sir," Marshall answered simply.

"I have to say," Monsieur Dubois stroked his chin for a moment, "I had banked on renting to an older gentleman. I do have an impressionable teenage daughter and you are... how do you say, raging with hormones, non?"

Marshall cringed automatically, as Madame Dubois' voice filled the room, from somewhere else in the house, "Henri! Be polite!"

Monsieur Dubois shook his head, and leaned forward, as if he were going to tell Marshall a secret, "Women have excellent hearing."

"I heard that, Henri!"

Monsieur only raised his eyebrows in an 'I told you so' fashion. This was turning out to be a very strange evening for Marshall.

"I can assure you that I am an honorable man, sir."

"Honor and hormones are two completely different matters, non?"

"Henri!" shrieked his wife.

"Can you hold you're tongue for one minute, Paulette? What I say to our guest is my business!"

"Oh, I'll show you who's business it is later, Henri!" Madame Dubois shouted from inside the kitchen.

Marshall stole a quick glance towards the door. He was growing increasingly more frighted by the moment, and if this evening continued the way that it was, Marshall was going to make a break for it.

"About the room..." Monsieur Dubois continued.

"I'd stay at the tavern, believe me, sir, but the rooms there are so expensive, and I have no money as it is."

"I see," Monsieur Dubois resumed stroking his chin, "if you have no money, then how do you expect to pay for _my_ room?"

Marshall was about to respond to Monsieur Dubois' legitimate question, when he was interrupted by the loud sound of crashing glass. Both Marshall and Monsieur Dubois looked up from their conversation, startled. As Marshall turned his head in the direction of the disturbance, his gaze only met that of a red faced girl.

The Stable boy recognized the girl as Ami. She had offered Marshall a glass of water, when he had first stopped by the residence, which resulted in Marshall repairing the family's pump. Marshall didn't mind at all, though. He actually quite liked working with his hands.

"Ami?" her father asked, "Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Monsieur Stoddard?"

"No, Papa!" the young girl gasped, as she attempted to steady a wobbling table, "I was just passing by, and clumsily knocked over this vase."

"Well clean it up, and then head on up to bed."

"Oui, Papa," Ami replied, grabbing a broom.

Monsieur Dubois gestured to his daughter, "This is my daughter, Ami. Ami, welcome Monsieur properly."

"Bonsoir, Monsieur," Ami gave a little curtsy.

"Yes, we met earlier," Marshall then added after noticing Monsieur Dubois' raised eyebrow, "briefly."

"Ah, now where were we?" Monsieur Dubois asked again.

"About the issue of payment," Marshall rubbed the back of his neck, "I haven't got any money at the moment, but I have skills as a stable hand, and I've already been to see Monsieur Mercier. He gave me a job, and I start Monday... until then, I can do work around the house... anything that needs repair... perhaps..."

Monsieur Dubois turned his attention to his daughter, "You're taking quite the long time to pick up a few pieces of broken glass, Ami. Are you sure you aren't eavesdropping?"

"Non, Papa!" the girl cried, offended. Although, Marshall did notice that she was sweeping rather slowly. Teenagers. They always want to be in the middle of everything. It was a good thing that Marshall was a man now! He was above such petty, little things.

Monsieur Dubois again looked towards Marshall, "I suppose you have no other accommodations for tonight?"

"No, Sir," Marshall sheepishly confessed.

"Well, it simply won't do to have you sleeping outside... and you're sure that you have a job lined up?"

"Yes, Sir," the stable hand answered more confidently.

"All right, then," Monsieur Dubois nodded, "the room is yours. We can work out the technical aspects of your rent in the morning."

Ami suddenly jumped up from her sweeping, depositing the shards of glass into a nearby dustbin, "All done, Papa!" she chimed, walking over to her father and placing a kiss on his right cheek, "Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit," her father returned in kind, running a gentle hand across her face.

"Goodnight, Monsieur," Ami addressed to Marshall.

"Goodnight," Marshall smiled.

As Ami skipped out the door, Monsieur Dubois stood, "Well, I am off to bed, Monsieur. You are welcome to stay up, if you like, just be sure to douse the fire before you retire. You're room is just up the stairs... the first room on the left. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Marshall replied politely.

With that, Monsieur Dubois exited the parlor, leaving Marshall sitting alone, and gazing into the hot, roaring flames, burning in the hearth.

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

Je m'appelle = My name is

Bonsoir = Good evening

Bonne nuit = Goodnight (Literally. Used if you are not going to see the other person again until the morning.)

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Sorry, that this chapter is so short when compared to the other two chapters, but I didn't know what else to write. So there you have it, Marshall will be staying with the Dubois family! What do you guys think? Was Ami eavesdropping or not? What do you think about Henri Dubois? Paulette Dubois?

Come on Rintu, let's tiger, tiger roar!

xJadeRainx


	4. Reflections in Fire

Marshall remained in the parlor, and gazed deeply into the flames, that were licking hungrily at the firewood. An unseen force was drawing his face closer and closer towards the fireplace. Marshall wasn't exactly sure how he was able to withstand the intense heat, hitting him square in the face, but still his gaze lingered. The stable boy reached his hand outward, feeling the uncomfortable hotness of it all. Fire was so destructive. Fire... it was the very force that stole his family right out from under him. An hour... that was all it took. Marshall was only gone for an hour, but by the time he returned, his home had been burnt to the ground. He never learned how the fire started, but the fact didn't matter. Not really. Not at all. Things could have been at least slightly different, Marshall reminisced sadly.

He and his father had just finished another long day of hard work, while on their way home, his father mentioned by chance, that they still needed to purchase the goose for that night's dinner. If they didn't come home with the bird, his mother would skin them both alive. Marshall knew that his father was exhausted after their long shift, of course he would be. David Stoddard was not a young man, anymore. So, Marshall generously offered to make a solo trip to the butcher, and buy the goose himself. That way, his father would have some extra time to rest. Marshall could easily handle such a task on his own, for he was a man now, not a child. David clapped his son on his shoulder, but didn't speak a word, and he didn't have to. Marshall knew what the simple gesture meant. David was proud of his boy.

A tear slowly slid down the length of Marshall's cheek, mixing with the perspiration already moistening his face. If only David had decided to accompany his son to the butcher's shop... then Marshall would still have his father, at least. Instead, Marshall was left with absolutely nothing but a heart, shredded to pieces. Here he had made this epic journey to a foreign country, to escape all the memories, but obviously his efforts were in vain. Marshall wanted to turn away from the terrible flames, that seemed to be mocking him, laughing at his pain, but he simply couldn't. It was all so unfair. Memory after memory, returned to Marshall's brain in a sudden flood. Those long days working with his father, learning everything he could from the man he admired so much... listening to his mother's expert story telling after a casual dinner with the family... wrestling playfully with his younger brother, Phil... God, that kid had so much energy... helping his little sister Adel with her reading... Marshall had even carved the girl her own doll out of wood for her birthday... Adel loved that thing. All these simultaneous memories were far to much for Marshall's fragile state, and the boy let out a single, heart wrenching sob.

* * *

Ami tossed an turned in her bed, unable to surrender herself to sleep. Really, how could the girl be expected to get to any rest at a time like this? A handsome stranger, a foreigner would be living under the same roof as her. Ami hadn't known this much excitement since she had befriended Siren, the mermaid, when her family lived near Cean... not that anyone ever believed that story, anyway. Ami sighed to herself, in slight aggravation. She found herself strangely enamored with this Monsieur Stoddard, but he barely seemed to notice her! Oh, well, Ami resolved, she was just going to have to make him notice her, then. The teen sat up in bed. It was no use; she simply couldn't get to sleep. There had to be something else she could do to entertain herself. Ah! Ami reached into the drawer of her nightstand, and produced a tinderbox of matches that her papa didn't know about, stuck a flame, and lit a candle. She still had some embroidery work that was in need of finishing, but where did she leave her sewing project? Ami didn't remember. The girl blew a stray tendril of her brown hair away from her face, concentrating, but then she remembered. Ami had left her sewing in the parlor. She casually picked up the candle stick, and made her way, downstairs.

Upon entering the parlor, Ami was surprised to see that Monsieur Stoddard was still up, and gazing intensely into the fire. Even with his back towards her, Ami could tell that the man appeared to be very pensive, but his face was dreadfully near the fire. How could he possibly endure the extreme heat?

Ami smiled to herself, "You'd better be careful, Monsieur, or you'll singe the eyebrows right off your face!"

The man turned his attention from the roaring flames, and looked up at Ami with a start. The teen blushed slightly at this. She hadn't expected for him to be up at this hour, and Ami was still in her nightgown. Oh well, Ami tried to comfort herself, at least this was a good way to get the man to notice her.

"Oh, hello, Ami."

She could have sworn that she heard a sniffle escape from Monsieur Stoddard. Had he been weeping? What ever for?

"I-I was just making my way to bed," explained the man, as he too blushed slightly.

Ami supposed that Monsieur Stoddard had finally realized that she was wearing nothing but a nightgown. If her papa were to see this... he'd probably throw the poor man out on the spot, but luckily, her papa was fast asleep.

"Monsieur..." Ami began.

"Please, call me Marshall," he begged, "Monsieur makes me feel like an old man."

Ami regarded the man curiously. His sea green eyes expressed a great sorrow, and that moment, he looked more like a boy than a man. Something about him just didn't seem right, his tone... his body language... something was definitely off. Ami could tell that much, despite the fact that she had only met Marshall, as he wished to be called, earlier that afternoon. Ami frowned and walked up to were the man was seated near the hearth. His face was glistening with beads of water, and covered in ashes. Ami couldn't rightly tell if the moisture was tears, or sweat brought about by sitting so near the fire. She kindly picked up a handkerchief, that was laying on a nearby table, and wiped the soot clean from the boy's face.

"Marshall it is, then," the girl said softly.

"Thank you," he smiled weakly.

"Merci," Ami repeated.

"I'm sorry?" Marshall was confused.

"En Français, we say, merci... thank you," she explained.

"Oh," he paused, "merci."

"Is there something on your mind, Marshall?" Ami asked abruptly.

"I," the boy sighed, "I was just thinking of my family."

"Do you miss them?" Ami inquired, as she took a seat next to Marshall, in front of the hearthstone.

"Yes."

"Tomorrow," Ami began, "I can show you to the post office... so that you can write your family soon... tell them how you're doing..."

"That won't be necessary," Marshall stood, and threw a pail of water on the red and orange flames, "goodnight, Ami."

Before Ami could even blink, Marshall had disappeared from the parlor and she was left alone. The poor girl didn't have any clue as to what just happened. Whatever it was, it seemed that Marshall wasn't one to open his feelings to strangers. Well, he couldn't possible consider her a stranger for ever, now could he? Ami shook her head, retrieved her embroidery from atop the same table she had found the handkerchief, and returned to her own room.

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

En Français = In French


	5. Meeting at the Market

The rising of the sun brought to the small village of Le Mans, yet another Saturday morning. Marshall had wanted to get an early start on the repairs he had promised to complete for his new landlord, but Madame Dubois would have nothing of the sort. The kind woman insisted that a man couldn't possibly get any work done on an empty stomach; it would send him straight to the town doctor. So, there Marshall sat, at the kitchen table, having a hearty breakfast with the Dubois family. Monsieur Dubois' face was hidden behind the morning paper, while Madame Dubois busied herself by the stove, young Maurice was fiddling with, well, Marshall couldn't identify whatever it was, but Maurice claimed that his 'invention' was going to make him famous one day, and Ami sat with her elbows propped on the table, with her chin implanted in the palms of her hands, just staring at him. She also had this far off look in her eyes, that confused Marshall to no end, but he couldn't judge her just yet. Marshall only met the girl yesterday, after all.

"So, Marshall," Ami began in casual conversation, "did you sleep well last night?"

Finally, Monsieur Dubois lowered his newspaper, and raised an eyebrow at his daughter, "Since when are you on a first name basis with Monsieur Stoddard, Ami?"

"Oh, Papa," the girl brushed off, "he doesn't mind. Do you, Marshall?"

"Um... no. I prefer it, actually," admitted Marshall.

"See, Papa," Ami chirped, "it all works out in the end!"

Monsieur Dubois sighed, and again buried his face behind his paper. This morning was beginning to feel very awkward for Marshall, and he hoped that breakfast would be over with soon. It wasn't that Marshall disliked the Dubois', it was just... the way Ami looked at him like a fresh cut of lean meat, made him very uncomfortable. If the boy wasn't so fearful of what he might find, Marshall would have wished he could read Ami's thoughts. At least that way he would know exactly what he was dealing with.

"Well," the girl drawled out, "did you sleep soundly?"

"Oh, yes," Marshall lied. Truthfully, he had been plagued by nightmares until the morning sun peeked through the clouds, "thank you."

"Merci," corrected Ami.

"Oh, that's right... merci. I forgot," Marshall said, quite ashamed of himself, "I guess I really need to learn French, now."

"I can teach you," Ami offered.

Well, Marshall thought, Ami certainly was a friendly young woman.

"I don't mean to trouble you..."

"Oh, it won't be trouble!" she cried excitedly, "I finished school a _year_ ago, and when I'm not doing housework, I'm completely free."

"Okay, then," Marshall smiled, "I would really appreciate that."

"Good, it's settled," the girl declared, "we can start lessons tomorrow! In the meantime, I can take you on a tour of Le mans. I'm sure you want to become familiar with your surroundings, don't you, Marshall?"

Monsieur Dubois set down his newspaper again, "You certainly are a chatterbox this morning, Ami. What has gotten into you?"

"Oh, Papa," giggled Ami, "you are so silly sometimes."

"I am _not_ silly," her father maintained.

Ami ignored the man of the house, and directed another question towards Marshall, "So, when would you like to go on that tour?"

"Uh..."

"Monsieur Stoddard cannot join you on this so called tour, Ami. He has promised to fix the leaky spot in the roof."

It appeared that Ami was about to open her mouth in protest, when her mother intervened.

"Oh, stop it, Henri," Madame Dubois delivered a warning glance at her husband, "It's Saturday, the boy starts his new job on Monday. You'll get you're money soon enough!"

"Fine," grumbled Monsieur Dubois, "I suppose there's no harm in a tour, but I don't see why Maurice can't take Monsieur Stoddard."

Marshall noticed that Ami adopted a look of pure horror. He was just begging to realize his mistake: being caught in the middle of another family's life was beyond awkward. Perhaps if he worked extra hours, and saved his earnings, he would be able to afford a room at the tavern, after all.

"Oh, but Ami knows this town like the back of her hand, Henri! Besides, I have a few items that could be picked up at the market. I could send Ami out with a list of what I need."

"But, Paulette," Monsieur Dubois sputtered, "we cannot have our daughter seen gallivanting about town with a strange man no one has ever seen! Think of the scandal!"

"Then send them both," Madame Dubois said decidedly, turning back to her cooking.

"All right," Monsieur Dubois sighed, apparently accepting defeat from his wife.

"Good!" Ami jumped up from her seat, "I'll just go get dressed, then. I will only be a minute!"

With that, Ami quickly ran up the stairs, and everyone left in the kitchen below, heard the loud slam of her bedroom door. That girl was excited about something.

"What was wrong with the dress Ami was only wearing?" Monsieur Dubois inquired of his wife.

Madame Dubois only smiled at her husband, shaking her head, the same way Marshall's mother used to do. Still, the boy couldn't help but agree with his landlord on this one. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with what Ami was wearing at breakfast. Besides, they would only be going to the market. What was the point in changing her dress? This Ami was a very strange girl, strange and bubbly.

* * *

Ami had changed into an attractive, sky blue day dress, with a wine colored bustle, and carried in her hands, a wicker basket with her mother's shopping list placed neatly inside. Marshall had to admit that the girl looked rather picturesque, bounding up an down with each step, as her basket swayed in her grip. The whole scene looked like a page torn out of a child's picture book.

Ami explained the important places in town that Marshall needed to know, as the three of them made their way through the village. Ami was speaking animatedly, using her hands to emphasize her words, while Maurice simply trailed behind them, not venturing to say much. Marshall couldn't help but feel the boy had been sent along with them, to act as a spy, but Monsieur Dubois had nothing to worry about. Ami was nothing but a child compared to him, and Marshall could never have an impure thought about her.

Suddenly, Ami stopped and removed her mother's list from the wicker basket, and began reading though it.

"Ugh," Ami groaned.

"What's wrong?" Marshall asked, genuinely concerned.

"Mama wants another loaf of bread."

"Why should that be a cause of concern?" the young man furrowed his brows.

"Because," Maurice chimed in, "Ami does not get along with the baker's son. She insults Pierre every time she sees him."

"I do not!" Ami cried indignantly.

"Yes, you do," Maurice challenged.

"Oh, shut up, Maurice," Ami chastised as she rushed towards the baker's stand."

Both Marshall and Maurice followed the girl dutifully, and listened to the conversation ensue.

"Bonjour, Pierre," Ami began, with a forced politeness.

"Bonjour, Ami," Pierre answered with an equal amount of disdain, "what can I help you with today?"

"I need a baguette for tonight's dinner."

"That will be a half franc," the baker's son informed.

"Oh, not it won't!" argued Ami.

"You do this every single time, Ami," Sneered Pierre, "A price is a price. You can't change it by shouting."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Pierre," Ami drilled into him, "taking advantage of you're hard working customers. Where's you're father? He should know that is only son is sullying his good name!"

Pierre held out an open palm, "Just pay me the half franc, Ami, and go on your merry little way."

"I most certainly will not, you... you terrible ogre!"

Ami argued back and forth with the baker's son, and their voices grew louder and louder with every few words. Marshall stood and watched in a mix of horror and admiration. Never before had he seen a woman speak so boldly, and confidently before. He couldn't understand what they were saying however, as the conversation switched to French a little while ago, but judging by the looks plastered across the faces of several old women, Ami must have been spouting some pretty big insults.

"Come on," Maurice tugged at Marshall's shirtsleeve, "Ami and Pierre can go at it for at least another hour. I can show you the rest of the town myself.'

"Yeah... okay," Marshall voiced, as he followed the young boy down the dirt path.

Marshall really did try to keep his mind on what Maurice was explaining to him, but he found it excessively difficult to tear his attention from the escalating confrontation, between Ami and the baker's son. Every few steps, Marshall stole another look back at the arguing pair. Those two were really drawing quite the crowd. He wondered what Monsieur Dubois would have to say about all this. The eighteen year old continued walking, without paying any attention to his surroundings. This of course was a mistake, Marshall suddenly realized, when his body collided with that of another human being. There was a distinctively feminine shriek, and Marshall looked up at the girl with a fright.

"I am so very sorry, miss," Marshall apologized with a gasp.

The poor girl had dropped her own basket, and its contents spilled about, all over the ground. Marshall immediately stooped to help pick up the mess he had created, but it seemed the girl had the exact same idea, for their hands reached for the same item, and touched. For a split second, Marshall felt is if, a bolt of electricity had coursed though his body, and for the first time, he took a good look at the young woman. Marshall's eighteen year old heart fluttered at the sight of her. She was simply beautiful, with flowing blond hair, and eyes the deepest shade of blue, he had ever seen. The girl was still bent over her basket, and from his current vantage point, Marshall had a clear view of her ample cleavage. The poor boy had to force himself to break his gaze. Honorable men simply did not do this sort of thing!

"I-I'm sorry, miss," Marshall repeated with a decent blush.

"Non, it's quite all right, Monsieur," the pretty girl smiled at him, "I didn't have any eggs in my basket this morning."

"Oh, good," Marshall said stupidly.

No! he cursed himself. Why did he have to sound so stupid in front of beautiful girls? Why? However Marshall collected himself, and offered the girl his hand. She accepted, and Marshall gently pulled the girl back up to her feet.

"Merci, Monsieur," she smiled sweetly.

Marshall gently nudged Maurice in his ribcage, and whispered, "How do you say, you're welcome in French?"

"De rien," he whispered back."

"De rien," Marshall repeated as confidently as he could.

The girl winked at him, "Well, Au revoir, Monsieur."

Having said her piece, the blond girl left, and Marshall watched her disappear into the distance.

"Who was that?" he asked Maurice, as soon as the young lady was appropriately out of earshot.

"Claire Mercier," Maurice answered with a shrug.

"Mercier?" Marshall questioned in disbelief, "Is she any relation to Jcaques Mercier?"

"Oui, she is his daughter."

"How old is she?" inquired Marshall.

"Just turned eighteen last month," Maurice replied, "why do you want to know?"

"No reason," Marshall said softly.

It occurred to Marshall that he was developing a schoolboy crush on his employer's daughter. Marshall smiled in spite of himself. It seemed that he would see the lovely Claire again, come Monday.

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

Au revoir = Goodbye


	6. Oh, What a Beautiful Morning?

All in all, Marshall had had a pretty good night. He only suffered from one nightmare that he could recall, which was unusual for the poor boy. Ever since the fire, Marshall's dreams had been riddled with one terrible, graphic dream after another, but not last night. In fact, he felt pretty darn good at the moment. Marshall sat upright in the bed he was renting from Monsieur Dubois, and stretched his arms above his head. He casually glanced out his window, and noticed that the sun was shining warmly. A couple of birds were perched on a thick tree branch, just outside his window. The eighteen year old smiled at the picturesque scene, that was until he realized that he had overslept. Marshall's smile faded quickly from his face, as he ran his fingers through his tangled hair, in despair.

"Great," he groaned to himself.

What better way to start things off than to have his new landlord think him a lazy man! Marshall should probably get to that leaky roof right away. The last thing he really needed was to let another day go by, without him even lifting a finger to work. In all honesty, Marshall felt a little ashamed of himself. If his father could see him now... David would probably smack him in the back of the head with a shovel they used for mucking out the horses' stalls.

"Sorry, Dad," Marshall whispered to himself, "I'll get to work right away, I promise."

Marshall swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood, stretching his body out further. He quickly scanned the room with his eyes, and spotted his shirt from yesterday, hastily thrown over the back of a wooden chair. Marshall took the shirt up in his hands, and turned it over a few times, studying the wrinkles. He swallowed hard, thinking. His mother would have had his shirt already ironed, if she were still alive. Marshall again shook the painful memories from his head, and threw on his shirt, as began to button it from the bottom up. He was less than halfway done with this simple task, when a light knock came at his door.

"Coming," Marshall called out.

Without warning, the door swung open, to reveal the figure of Ami standing just outside the doorway. Marshall immediately let out a shriek of surprise. If Monsieur Dubois was lurking nearby, the last thing Marshall wanted was for his landlord to see him in this semi-compromising situation with Ami.

"Get out," Marshall ordered, pushing the girl backwards, and as far away from his doorway as possible.

"Excusez-moi," Ami giggled, in a strange kind of fashion, that Marshall hadn't really heard before, "I thought you said, '_come in_'!"

"Well, I didn't," the young man replied, "so, just go."

With that, Marshall closed the door, shutting Ami out of his room. He instantly regretted coming off so rudely. Marshall had overreacted to the situation, he came to realize. It wasn't like he was shirtless, or anything suggestive like that, and to top it off, Ami hadn't even stepped foot in his room, in fact, the teen hadn't even crossed a toe over the threshold. It was just... Ami had taken him by surprise, that was all. Marshall sighed, and finished buttoning his shirt the rest of the way.

When Marshall again emerged from his room, Ami was still waiting for him just outside his doorway.

"Bonjour, Marshall," Ami greeted with a genuine smile.

"Does that mean, 'good morning'?" he questioned, returning the girl's smile.

"Oui, it does," Ami nodded.

"Then," Marshall paused, and added with a grin, "Bonjour, Ami."

For reasons the eighteen year old couldn't understand, Ami beamed at him. Marshall wrote it off as the teenager's friendly nature, although every last trace of civility in the girl, appeared to vanish, at the mere sight of Pierre Boulanger. Oh, well, Marshall thought. He couldn't very well expect anyone to get along perfectly with ever last member of the village; it simply wasn't feasible. However, Marshall was soon pulled away from his thoughts, when the teenage girl suddenly grabbed him by the hand.

"Come so," Ami urged, "it is time for church."

"Church!" Marshall shrieked.

Ami's smile faded, as she asked, "Why, it's Sunday morning! Do you not want to go to church with my family?"

"I-I," Marshall fumbled over his words, in an attempt to come up with a good enough excuse, "I...I don't have clothes appropriate for church. Just look at me."

Ami looked him up and down with a critical eye, before laughing, "Is that all? You can borrow something from Papa! Now, you must come, for church begins soon."

The young girl again grabbed his arm, trying to force him down the hallway. Truly, it was amusing for Marshall to see such a fragile creature endeavor to move him against his will, but he remained rooted where he stood, causing Ami to turn to face him once more.

"What?" she questioned with an aggravated sigh.

"I won't be joining your family for church services today, or any other Sunday, Ami. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" the teen asked with empathy.

Marshall found himself staring into Ami's honey brown eyes. She seemed so sincere; he couldn't possibly bring himself to lie to the girl.

"I-I've sort of had a falling out with God," he answered honestly.

"I see," Ami contemplated, "have you tried praying?"

"No."

"Well, maybe you should," Ami replied, "try praying, that is."

Marshall stubbornly shook his head, "I don't _want_ to, Ami."

"But," Ami began to protest, "the whole village will be at church today. It will give you a chance to socialize... make some friends."

"_Everyone_ will be there?" Marshall asked, reconsidering, "Everyone, like Claire Mercier?"

"Oui," Ami answered suspiciously, "she will be there. How do you know Claire Mercier?"

If Marshall wasn't so caught up in his own thoughts, he might have noticed the hurt begin to flood into the teenager's honey brown eyes. But circumstances being as they were, he did not.

"We met at the market yesterday," the boy answered absentmindedly.

"Really?" Ami asked, her shoulders sagging slightly, "I didn't see..."

"That's because you were far to busy arguing with the baker's son," Marshall cut her off with a grin, "not that it wasn't for a worthy cause though, Ami. There's nothing worse than a man who tries to pull the wool over his customers' eyes."

Ami nodded, but Marshall did notice that the girl had suddenly adopted a far off look in her eyes, and he was rightly concerned.

"Are you feeling well?"

Ami nodded again.

"Good," Marshall was relieved, "Now, where is you're father? I need to ask him about borrowing some appropriate Sunday clothing."

"Marshall," the girl began abruptly, "you really don't _have_ to go to church if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to push you... you'll make friends soon enough."

"No, you're right, Ami," Marshall said decidedly, "I shouldn't ostracize myself from the rest of Le Mans, and I know I'll make friends, because I already have a great friend to help me along the way."

Marshall stopped, to chastely stroke Ami's cheek with his thumb.

"Now, you're father..."

"He's downstairs... in the parlor," Ami spoke in a low whisper.

Marshall watched in amazement, as her eyes mysteriously began to water.

"Ami?" Marshall questioned, once again feeling concerned for the girl.

"Pardon, it's my allergies," Ami sniffed, before darting down the hallway.

Marshall was left standing alone, and confused.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Oh, Marshall... how can you be so very, very clueless?

Okay, so this chapter isn't meant to be super preachy religion, but France is a predominantly Catholic nation, and I figured it would have been an epically important aspect of life during this time period, so, I wrote it into the story. I had a different ending planned for this chapter, but it didn't seem like it fit the mood. So, it must wait until next time.

Now, I realize that most of you are waiting to see what happens in Ocean Heart, but I'm a little uninspired right now. Also, I started new work hours, so it's pretty hard to update, but I WILL try to update harder. In fact, I should be sleeping right now... yet, here I am. I hope you all appreciate it!

Missed the Saturday dance,

xJadeRainx


	7. Life's Simple Drama

Ami barreled down the stairs of her modest home, her eyes blurry from the hot tears welling in her eyes. With every few steps, the devastated young girl emitted a sniffle or two, barely even perceptible. So imperceptible, in fact, that the average, untrained human ear, would not have even picked up on the sound, but Henri Dubois was far from an average man. No, _he_ was a father. From the very moment Henri had held his brand new, baby girl in his arms, he had vowed to protect the dear child down to his dieing breath. As a result, Monsieur Dubois had trained his mere human ears to recognize the slightest strain of distress in his darling Ami's voice. That was why, his daughter's sniffling did not go unnoticed.

The girl rushed past her father, nearly spinning him, around completely, but before Ami had a chance to escape, Monsieur Dubois gently grabbed his daughter by her delicate arm.

"Ami?" Henri furrowed his dark brows, "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

"Ce n'est pas grave, Papa," Ami answer with surprising composure, "It's only my allergies acting up again. Those darn dandelions!"

"But it isn't even dandelion season..."

Monsieur Dubois' sentence was cut off by his very impatient looking daughter, "Excusez-moi, Papa," Ami begged, "but I still have a few chores to attend to before church begins. Father Bastien says that sloth is one of the seven deadly sins, you know. Now, you wouldn't want to be responsible for my sinning on a Sunday, would you, Papa?"

Before Henri Dubois could wrap his head around his daughter's words, Ami had effortlessly wrenched her arm from his gentle grip, and headed straight towards the door. Monsieur Dubois watched has Ami twisted the knob, and hurriedly opened the door, but she had one last thing to say before she closed the door behind her.

"Oh, Papa," Ami gave one of her covert sniffles, "Monsieur Stoddard is looking for you. He needs to borrow some Sunday clothing... I invited him to church."

With that, Ami shut the door with an unnaturally loud slam, and disappeared outside.

Monsieur Dubois turned to his wife in alarm, "What has gotten into that girl lately?"

Paulette answered with a smug little smile, as if she had knowledge of some kind of secret, "Oh, Henri, she's only a teenage girl... always unpredictable."

"Oui," Henri agreed, "yesterday, Ami referred ton our tenant by his name, Marshall, and today she is back to calling him by the more formal, Monsieur Stoddard!"

As soon as Monsieur Dubois had finished his sentence, his wife let out an audible gasp.

"What is it Paulette?" Henri asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"Oh, ce n'est pas grave, Henri," Madame Dubois reused their daughter's exact words from earlier, "pardonnez-moi, but I too have some... chores to attend to before mass, this morning."

Paulette lovingly kissed her husband on his cheek, and quickly followed Ami outside. When his wife was gone, Henri Dubois ran his fingers through his black hair, and sat in his favorite chair in the parlor. The poor man had no idea as to what was going on in his own home, anymore.

* * *

Upon stepping outside, Paulette immediately spotted her daughter sitting underneath an apple tree that grew right in their front yard. A smile unconsciously spread across her lips; she and Henri had planted that tree when their family had first moved into their home. It certainly had grown since then. However, Madame Dubois' smile quickly vanished from her face, when she noticed Ami's forlorn demeanor. The poor dear was sitting cross legged under the shade of the apple tree, picking at the green grass with her fingers.

Paulette quietly sat by her daughter's side, "Do your chores include sitting underneath the family apple tree, ma chérie?"

Ami sighed, "Non, I forgot... I finished all my chores already."

"I see," Madame Dubois began thoughtfully, "it is strange then, that you seem so downhearted."

"Mama," Ami looked up at her, "why does Claire Mercier get _everything_... anything at all that she desires is hers at the snap of a finger!"

Ami emphasized her words by snapping her own fingers, and Paulette laughed in spite of herself.

"Since when are you jealous of Claire's money, Ami?"

Her daughter frowned, "I'm not jealous of her money, Mama... just, you know... other things."

"Other things?" Madame Dubois arched an eyebrow.

"Forget it, Mama," Ami sighed again, "you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, no," Paulette Dubois giggled, "I wouldn't know the first thing about being a sixteen year old girl. It wasn't _that_ long ago for me, ma chérie!"

"It's just... Marshall..."

"You like him," the mother finished.

"Oui," Ami sheepishly admitted with a blush, "but he admires another girl..."

"Claire?" Paulette interrupted, "Did Monsieur Stoddard say as much to you?"

"Well, no," Ami said perking up a bit.

"Interesting," Madame Dubois remarked, "now, where exactly did they meet. He has only been in town for three days, and most of that time, Monsieur spent with us."

"At the market," answered her daughter.

Paulette Dubois laughed lightheartedly at this, "The market! Why their encounter couldn't have lasted more than three minutes, Ami!"

"I didn't really consider that," Ami mused, "but still... Claire is so beautiful!"

"Oui, Claire is a pretty girl," Madame Dubois lifted the girl's chin in her gentle hands, "but she is no more pretty than you. A little competition never hurt anyone. Why give up so easily?"

"But, Mama..."

"I may not know Monsieur that well, Ami, but he doesn't seem like the type that falls for a pretty face alone. Claire hardly seems like a girl who knows the meaning of hard work... and Monsieur... well, I'm nearly forced to beat him down with a wooden spoon just to get him to stop fixing things around the house, or he'd work his fingers to the bone!"

"Well, that's true," Ami sat a little straighter, apparently considering her mother's sage advice.

"Now, Ami," Madame Dubois added somewhat sternly, "get up before you ruin your Sunday Dress. We can't have you wearing a soiled dress to Church. We'd be the laughing stalk of all Le Mans!"

"Oui, Mama," her daughter answered obediently, a rare occurrence for the girl, indeed.

Paulette suppressed a thin smile, as Ami stood to brush some dust from her white dress. Did the girl really have to sit in the dirt, in a white dress!

When Ami looked at least presentable, Madame Dubois added, "Now, let's go into the house, and after mass we're going to have to have a talk about your behavior at the market, yesterday. Madame Dupont, and Madame Cloutier gave me some very distressing news... harassing poor Pierre again..."

"Oh, no," groaned Ami.

"Oh, yes," Paulette clicked her tongue at her daughter, "but, now we must round up the menfolk before we're late for church. Father Bastien would not be pleased."

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? = What's wrong?

Ce n'est pas grave = It's nothing/ It's no big deal

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

So, I totally had a different scene planned for this chapter, but Converse suggested something similar to this. Is this what you had in mind, dear? Sorry, that i couldn't quite fir in the bit about the spaceship, though... maybe some other time...

Oh, man... I just love the stereotypical father types. SO overprotective, yet clueless at the same time!

I tried to make Ami seem like the typical lovestruck girl in this chapter. She's all like, 'OMG! It's the end of the world because Marshall is in love with CLAIRE! It's totally not fair, because I saw him first! Hussy!' and then her mother is all like, 'Calm down, Ami. They barely even had time to speak with each other. Give the girl a run for her money!'

Anyway, I'm tired. time to sleep, now. Catch you on the flip side!

Turtles in a half shell,

xJadeRainx


	8. Ami's Lesson

Mass, this Sunday, was a horrible experience for Ami. The poor thing could hardly force herself to listen to Father Bastien's sermon. Her attention was mainly given to Marshall, and as a result, Claire. Ami clearly noticed the 'covert' glances that Marshall was sending in Claire's direction. What was it about Claire Mercier that made young man trip over themselves in admiration? Ami honestly, had never hated Claire, until that very moment. That hour, was quite easily the worst hour Ami Dubois had ever spent in her life. So, when Father Bastien finally delivered, 'Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,' Ami nearly jumped for joy. The girl had planned to grab Marshall by the arm, and get him away from that church as quickly as possibly. Unfortunately, the Universe held other plans. Somehow, the awful, lecherous Claire had snuck up behind them, and tapped Marshall on the shoulder. It all happened so quickly, Ami didn't even see her rival coming. Long story short, Claire had invited Marshall over to her own house for lemonade. After all, according to _Claire_, 'if Monsieur Stoddard is going to work for Papa, he might as well become better acquainted with him!' What could Ami do? Resort to throwing a temper tantrum right there in the church pew? No, Ami grudgingly, had to let Marshall leave with _that_ girl.

It was a short walk back to the Dubois household, and if her mother had increased her spirits earlier in the morning, poor Ami felt more shattered than ever before. Upon strolling through the front door, Ami immediately resigned to flopping herself into bed, so that she might have a well deserved cry. Ami had not laid down for more than two minutes, before there was a soft knock at her door. She rolled off her bed with a groan, and answered the door, only to see her dear mother in the doorway.

"Mama?"

Madame Dubois smiled at her, "Do you remember the little talk that I promised to have with you?"

"Non," Ami voiced innocently.

"Well, then," Paulette purposefully stepped into the room, "I'll just have to remind you. Ami, how many times have I told you to behave yourself at the market?"

"I don't know," Ami admitted, "I stopped counting long ago."

Her mother frowned, "Why must you be so difficult, Ami?"

"Entertainment?" Ami answered with a shrug.

Paulette Dubois disregarded her daughters statement for the moment, "Madames Dupont and Cloutier informed me..."

"Ugh," Groaned Ami.

Her mother sighed, "Did you really compare the Baker's son to a..."

"Oui," Ami said dejectedly.

"And did you say..."

"Oui."

Paulette's face contorted into that of pure horrification, "But why?... How could you?"

"Mama!" cried Ami, "Papa works hard to earn his money, and that corrupt Pierre Boulanger is taking advantage of all of Le Mans charging the prices he does! It isn't right, Mama... and before you go calling him an eligible bachelor again, know this: I would rather become an old spinster before becoming Madame Boulanger!"

"All I'm asking is for you to behave yourself, Ami," her mother finished in exasperation, "is that so much to ask?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong, Mama," Ami challenged, "someone has to stand up for what's right in this village! I'll make sure of that!"

"And as your mother," Paulette added with a semi-scowl, "I will ensure that you learn to act like a proper young woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can start by scrubbing down every last floor in this house," Madame Dubois suppressed a small smirk.

Poor Ami's jaw nearly dropped to the ground, "What! But it's Sunday! Mama, you never give chores on Sunday!"

"This is not a chore, ma chérie," Paulette chuckled, "it's a punishment."

"Ce..." Ami abruptly cut herself off.

"Ce, what?" Her mother asked knitting her eyebrows together.

"Nothing, Mama," the teen answered sheepishly.

* * *

Now, Ami was positioned on all fours scrubbing furiously at the kitchen's wooden floor. Her brown hair was tied up in an old kerchief, and there was a black smudge on her nose from when Ami had scratched an itch, completely forgetting that her hands were dirty from her work. The young girl wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. Shaking her head, Ami thought that she must look something akin to Cinderella... but in that fairy tale, Cinderella ended up with a handsome prince, _and_ there was no Claire Mercier to worry about. Ami angrily grabbed the brush and scrubbed with all her might. Having no other outlet, the teenager was forced to take out her frustrations on the innocent wood flooring.

"Stupid Claire," Ami found herself whining, "ouch!"

Ami winced, and dropped the scrub brush. She had been scrubbing so hard with that brush, that Ami had accidentally broken a nail. Ami stopped then, to inspect her hands. They were chapped and red from her daily chores, and the fingernails that weren't already broken were badly chipped. Ami snorted to herself in disgust. Claire's nails were perfect, long and beautiful, and painted red to boot! Her mother was wrong. Ami hadn't a chance in the world against Claire Mercier. Ami buried her face in the palm of her hands, in an act of despair. The girl was not sure how long she remained in such a state, before she heard a voice just overhead.

"Ami?" the voice asked, in apparent concern.

The teenager lifted her gaze, to meet the sea green eyes belonging to Marshall, but for the first time, Ami was not pleased to see him. Marshall had walked into the kitchen tracking muddy footprints everywhere. Ami could have cried. She was nearly finished before he went and preformed this unspeakable act of cruelty!

Ami's right eye twitched, "Ce me fait chier."

Marshall then lowered himself to her level, and kneeling before her, he took her small chin in his large, calloused hands.

"We haven't started any french lessons yet, Ami," he began good-naturedly, "I haven't got the first clue as to what you just said."

Ami's jaw tightened in anger, "lesson number one," she growled, "c'est eau!"

Without a moment's notice, Ami lifted her pail of dirty water, and dumped its contents right on Marshall's head. Then standing, she pivoted her her heels, and left the kitchen in a huff.

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

C'est eau = It's water or this is water

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Ah, the return of Ce me fait chier! Now we know from where Xavier picked up that phrase!

If you'll please note, I mentioned the hands of Claire, Ami, and Marshall in this chapter. Claire's were perfect and beautiful, with painted nails, while Ami and Marshall's were chapped and calloused, respectively. Very interesting, but was that a coincidence? You tell me!

Sing sweet nightingale,

xJadeRainx


	9. Vis à Vis

Somewhere in the thirty odd seconds between Ami lifting her pail, and the dirty water actually cascading over his sandy locks, Marshall realized his inconsiderate mistake. The stable hand had unwittingly tracked dozens of muddy footprints all over the kitchen floor. Really, how could Marshall have done something like that? Back home, his mother had warned him repeatedly to wipe his feet before entering the house. That was a lesson that should have been permanently burnt into his memory, yet somehow Marshall had forgotten. By the looks of it, Ami was nearly finished with her chore, before he created such a muddy mess. It was no wonder Ami had acted out in such a manner! The poor girl was completely within her rights. Sighing to himself in shame, Marshall picked up Ami's wooden bucket, and lazily walked over to the kitchen pump, filling it to the brim with fresh water. If there was one thing Marshall learned from his late father, it was: a man must fix his own mistakes. Taking the scrub brush in his large, calloused hands, Marshall had to admit that he had never scrubbed a floor before in his life. After all, such a thing was a woman's work! Still, there was a fist time for everything, and he did need to redeem himself. So, with a final sigh, Marshall lowered himself on his hands and knees, and began to scrub.

* * *

Later that evening, Ami's temperament appeared to improve greatly after her discovery of Marshall's housework abilities. Marshall had cleaned himself up from Ami's watery assault, and following dinner with the Dubois', Ami having once again warmed to the stable hand, had suggested they begin their French lessons. So, Marshall currently sat at a table in the parlor with Ami sitting near enough to him that their shoulders brushed. Together, their heads were bent over some old school books, that were used to teach young children. And though the two youths were only studying, they were not alone in the parlor. Of course not! Monsieur Dubois had settled in the parlor, rather comfortably in his favorite chair, with his evening newspaper, so that he might keep this little study session under a watchful eye.

They had already covered the French alphabet, which Marshall noted was not too unlike his native English letter system. Needless to say, that lesson was a short one. Marshall was a foreigner in this land, but he was far from an idiot. Now, Ami had upgraded this private lesson, and had moved on to counting in French.

"Un, deux, trois," Ami counted, "répéter, repeat."

"Un.. deux.. trois," Marshall mimicked his tutor the best he could, although Ami giggled, causing the boy to think that he had gotten the accent completely wrong.

"We need to work on you're accent, Monsieur," Ami laughed again.

At this, Marshall blushed, and lowered his eyes to the book in shame. If this was an exercise that children could complete with ease, what did that say about Marshall... He was struggling!

"Ne vous inquiétez pas, Don't worry," Ami tried to comfort him, "you'll get it soon enough. Here."

Ami stopped, and took out a sheet of paper, scribbling down something in French, before handing the parchment over to Marshall. The Stable hand reached for the paper, and began to read through the list Ami had created for him. Marshall couldn't help but feel a little pride swell up inside him, when he realized that he already knew some of the words Ami had penned down. His tutor had written down the French alphabet, and the numbers he had just learned. Ami had also listed some conversational words for him.

Marshall read:

_Bonjour._

He knew that one! It meant, hello, or good day.

_Au revoir._

Marshall understood that word, as well. Au revoir translated to good bye!

_Oui._

Yes, oui, meant yes!

_Non._

Non? That was too easy! Non meant no. It was very similar to English, which was why Marshall had no trouble remembering that.

_S'il vous plaît._

Marshall frowned at that word. It sounded familiar to him, but the young man simply couldn't remember what it meant at the moment. S'il vous plaît? Oh, wait a minute...

The stable hand's train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a gruff, irritated sound that came from Monsieur Dubois' throat.

"It is getting late Ami," her father began, setting down his periodical, "shouldn't you be heading up to bed at this hour?"

"Oui, Papa," Ami smiled shyly, which quite frankly, astounded Marshall.

Ami was a difficult person to read. One minute she might not speak a word, but simply stare at him in a quirky manner, while another minute she'd engage in a heated altercation with a villager, like Pierre Boulanger, or she may be inclined to dump a bucket of soiled water onto the head of an unsuspecting man, and now, here she was acting shy around her father! It seemed that there were never ending sides of Ami's personality. What an odd girl! Still, Marshall liked her. Ami made for quite the interesting friend, indeed.

Marshall watched as the girl rose, serenely, to kiss her waiting father goodnight, upon his cheek. When she turned to leave the parlor, however, Marshall called out to her.

"Ami, wait."

"Oui, Marshall?" the teen asked in a sing-song voice.

"Thank you," Marshall began, "...for all your help."

Ami smiled knowingly at him, "Merci, En Français, we say, Merci."

Merci! Marshall slapped himself on the forehead. He knew that one! Really, Marshall was going to have to continue practicing until French became second nature to him.

"Merci," he corrected himself.

Ami winked at him, "Bonne nuit, Marshall, Bonne Nuit, Papa."

"Bonne nuit," Marshall repeated. The stable boy thought it meant, goodnight, although he couldn't be positive.

With that, Ami was gone, and Marshall was left alone in the parlor with his landlord, who was very protective of his only daughter. At the moment, Monsieur Dubois was staring quizzically at Marshall.

"Sir?" Marshall asked, slightly nervous.

"My daughter has seemed to take quite the interest in you, Monsieur."

"She's just friendly, I suppose," the young man answered, "and Ami... she is a very good teacher."

"So then, you view Ami as a teacher?"

"Oui," Marshall thought it a good time to practice his French vocabulary, "Oui, and also as a friend."

Monsieur Dubois nodded at Marshall's words, placed his newspaper on a nearby table, and stood, "I like you, Monsieur. I would hate to see that change."

Before Marshall even had time to digest his landlord's words, or were they more like a threat? In any case, before the boy even had time to contemplate what Monsieur Dubois meant by that, the man had already exited the parlor.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

It's Semi late, so I won't say much. I'll just let you know that the chapter_ Vis-à-Vis_, is named after my college French text book. I thought it was appropriate, because Ami was teaching Marshall French from an old school book! But... it just may have a hidden meaning too! Can you tell me what it means?

A, B, C, D, E, F, G...

xJadeRainx


	10. A New Rival

On Monday morning, young Marshall rose with the dawn, eager to start his first day of work, and if course, it didn't hurt knowing that he would likely see Claire again. He dressed quickly, so that he might actually have a chance to repair the leaky roof for Monsieur Dubois, and still make it to the stables on time. What kind of impression would it leave upon Monsieur Mercier, if Marshall was late for his first day on the job. If that were the case, Marshall grimaced in his thought, he likely wouldn't be welcomed back for a second day, and Marshall needed a job desperately. The young man patched up the roof the best he could given his current time limit, and left the job only half satisfied. It was fine for now, but Marshall would have to come back to it before the end of the week. Marshall sighed setting down his hammer, Jacques Mercier's stables laid in the heart of the village, and was a decent trek from the Dubois residence. He would need to leave sooner, rather than later. Marshall quickly snatched up a few slices of bread to eat as breakfast along the way, and quietly exited the house.

Marshall still had an adequate amount of time to get to work, so he strolled casually down the dusty path leading to the market place. He occupied his time, thinking up things to say to Claire when he saw her. Marshall liked Claire, and he didn't want to come off as idiotic as he had the day they met in the market. Well, at least Marshall felt like he had redeemed himself, the previous afternoon, when Claire had invited him over to lunch, but still, he couldn't be sure. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair, sighing again; Marshall wanted Claire to like him too. Suddenly, Marshall was startled out of his musings, by three loud shots ringing through the still, morning air. There was no doubt about it. Marshall had heard the firing of a musket. The young man turned his head in the direction of the gunshots, and was just in time to see three geese fall from the sky. The poor animals were dead long before they ever hit the ground. It struck Marshall as odd, that anyone would be hunting for supper so early in the morning, but he couldn't judge. Everyone had their own preferences, he shrugged, before continuing his journey to the stables. However, Marshall soon froze again, in thought. A man must have a very large family to feed, having killed three geese at a single time. Marshall narrowed his eyes scanning the surrounding area for the hunter, and then the stable hand spotted him. The hunter was rather young, likely no older than he himself was, but he was huge, with rippling biceps, and walked with a haughty saunter. Something about that man's walk annoyed Marshall greatly, although he wasn't exactly sure why. Marshall waited for the hunter to draw nearer, and collect his kill, but it never happened. The stable hand was floored, and absolutely horrified, when he realized that the man was headed in the opposite direction. But what about the geese? Had he honesty killed the wretched animals for sport?

Marshall was a patient, and rational young man, and he always tried his best to stay out of other people's business, knowing that he was in no position to judge his fellow man, but right now, his blood was beginning to boil. Those animals were living once, and Marshall understood that people needed to eat, but the geese had not given up their lives for food. They were simply killed for fun... for sport. Further, Marshall knew that certain families were literally staving to death from a lack of food, and here this gluttonous man had simply left perfectly good food to rot away, without the slightest trace of remorse. Now, _that_ made Marshall angry.

"Hey, you!" Marshall hollered, balling up both fists tightly.

The stable boy scowled, completely unamused, as the so called hunter, looked to his left and right, as if he didn't know who Marshall was addressing so angrily. When Marshall finally caught the hunter's eye, he stared the man down as menacingly as he could. The man's blue eyes glinted with mischief, as he slung his musket over his shoulder, and stalked over to where Marshall was standing, snickering along the way.

"Quoi?" demanded the hunter rudely, crossing his arms in front of him, "Je suis un homme très occupé."

"What do you think you are doing?" Marshall snapped at the hunter.

"Pardon?" the hunter let out an annoyingly innocent gasp, that made Marshall quake with anger.

Marshall rolled his sea green eyes, "Parlez-vous anglais?"

He had learned that phrase from Ami the previous evening. If Marshall weren't so agitated at the moment, he might have been proud of himself.

"Oui," the hunter snickered in an amazingly deep voice, "it is a simple language... French is for the intelligent."

"You killed those geese," Marshall growled, his fists still clenched, and his anger heightened at the insult the stranger had just directed at him.

"I know," the hunter replied cockily, with an ugly smirk, "three perfect shots, non?"

Marshall didn't like this man already, which was unusual for the stable boy, seeing as he typically got along with most anybody. Something about this hunter, however, irritated Marshall to no end. The haughty way he spoke... his overly masculine walk... it was almost as if the hunter was trying to show off, at all times.

"Who are you?" Marshall demanded with a question of his own.

At this, the hunter let out a hearty laugh, "Mon Dieu," he rasped, slapping his large knee, "a foreigner rears his ugly head, and demands to know the name of Emile Legrand! That... that is priceless!"

"Emile Legrand," Marshall repeated, although the name left an unspeakably bad taste in his mouth.

"Oui," Emile scowled at him, "and who, might I ask, are you?"

"Marshall Stoddard," funny, the stable boy had not unclenched his fists at all during the encounter.

"Enchanté," Emile greeted in unmistakable sarcasm, "listen, _boy_," the hunter prodded Marshall's chest with his thick index finger, "you had best learn your place. Le Mans is _my_ village. You are lucky I give you the privilege to stay here."

Only Marshall was not frightened by this hulking buffoon, actually he really quite annoyed at being called a 'boy', by someone no older than himself. If Marshall had had the time, he certainly would have stayed to argue with massive oaf, but unfortunately, he had wasted several precious minutes, and needed to find his way to the stables immediately. With an aggressive snort, Marshall turned to leave the scene, but the likes of Emile Legrand called after him.

"Why are you running from me?" the hunter goaded, "Êtes-vous un peu effrayé de poulet?

Marshall had no clue as to what Emile had just taunted him with, but by the tone of the hunter's voice, he knew that it couldn't be pleasant... most likely another insult. This guy was really getting annoying. Marshall didn't bother to respond to Emile, but continued on his way to work, shaking his head in irritation. This Emile Legrand had better watch his back, because next time, Marshall would _not_ let him off so easily.

* * *

**Quick French Lesson**

Quoi? = What?

Je suis un homme très occupé = I am a busy man

Parlez-vous anglais? = Do you speak English?

Mon Dieu = My God

Enchanté = Enchanted/ nice to meet you

Êtes-vous un peu effrayé de poulet? = are you a scared, little chicken?


End file.
